


Unnamed Desire

by quinngrey



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Consent, First Time, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 04:45:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16947249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinngrey/pseuds/quinngrey
Summary: In which, after many years of pining for his father, Fingon meets with him in his tent on the ice.





	Unnamed Desire

**Author's Note:**

> For a request from anon for Fingon/Fingolfin, first time, consenting adults.

It had started as fleeting curiosity. Fingon had been listening to Maitimo’s retelling of his own taboo desires, his elicit exploits with his father. The thought of his own, Ñolofinwë, had been met with more trepidation than anything. Yet as time passed, he found himself fantasizing about his father’s lean body, his strong jaw.. What it might be like to kiss those pale lips, to bring a healthy flush across his cheeks. He couldn’t help but feel shame at the thought, instead opting to keep it to himself lest face rejection for even entertaining the fantasy. 

By the time he had coming of age, his fiftieth begetting day, he had spent more nights fisting his cock into his hand with the thought of Ñolofinwë than he had actually pursuing elves his own age. His lusts had not gone unnoticed, though Maitimo was the only one to have discovered his cousin’s desires. 

“You should approach him, Finno,” he shrugged, not looking up from the scroll he was transcribing into his father’s finished Tengwar. 

“And risk alienating Atar completely?” He scoffed, shaking his head as his face filled with heat. “I couldn’t possibly..”

Maitimo rolled his eyes at the comment. “You’re his eldest. There is little you could do that would threaten your relationship. Approach him privately after a court event, and if he isn’t interested, you can easily play it off as being too drunk.”

Finno sighed and went back to practising his own script once more, dropping the conversation. 

——

The reception would have gone smoothly if not for Uncle Fëanáro’s antics and accusations hurled ruthlessly, his paranoia at an all time high. Ñolofinwë paced his personal library, a near empty glass of tart wine in his hand, trying to determine how he could possibly rectify the situation in court tomorrow. 

Fingon knocked lightly at the door, concerned frown etched deep in his brow. “Atar?”

“You may enter.”

The door creaked as he slipped in, closing it behind him and flicking the lock shut. So much for his plan to finally approach his father tonight.. Clearly he was in a poor mood, and Fingon was nervous enough about rejection to begin with without the added stress. 

“You’ll wear a hole in the carpet if you keep pacing like this,” he offered, trying to offer a smile as he took his father’s arm. “Come.. sit.”

Ñolofinwë sighed and placed the wine glass down before his hand went over his son’s hand, letting himself be guided to one of the leather chairs by the hearth. “It’s bad enough he wishes to ruin his own image in the court, but must he ruin mine?”

“I know, Atar,” Fingon acknowledged, going to stand behind the chair so that his hands could work the knots from his father’s shoulders. “Turukáno already has a plan for the morrow.. for now, you must rest. You’ll wear yourself into exhaustion.” 

The younger elf’s fingers kneaded the other’s aching muscles until his father’s head fell forward, eyes closed as tension slowly drained from him. All of the day’s stress melting away by his son’s hand. 

“You’re right, Findekáno,” he admitted with a soft sigh. Ñolofinwë couldn’t do a damned thing about it now and his son’s massaging movements were undeniably calming. 

——

Time and time again, Fingon was thwarted in his plan to approach his father. Something always happened or his nerve would fail him. Yet, his desire never waned and his fantasy grew ever stronger until even in reverie all he could see was his father’s long, dark hair cascading down and tickling his chest as he fucked into Fingon with such loving abandon. 

——

It wasn’t until they were on the Helcaraxë that at last he gathered every ounce of his courage. Their people were dying in the cold, frigid hellscape of the grinding ice. The thought of losing anyone, losing everyone, propelled him.

Night had fallen, though one could hardly tell given that daylight hours were so far and few between. The host had stopped to rest, their tents pitched to keep out the worst of the wind. His father’s tent stood unmarked against the rest, save for the dim, flickering light of a candle that threatened to go out. 

As quickly as he could, he made his way to the other’s tent, not bothering to announce his presence before entering. It seemed that Ñolofinwë had been expecting him, sitting up in his bedroll with furs draped over his shoulders. 

“Come, sit with me,” he offered, looking more weary than Finno had ever seen him.

Without question he joined his father, curling up into his lap like an elfling far younger than he was now. His gloved fingers curled upon Ñolofinwë’s chest, head tilted up to look at the other. Slowly, his hand trailed up to his father’s face, his silvery eyes darting to the other’s lips. 

There was little hesitation as he craned his neck upward, pressing his lips to his father’s, but to his surprise, the older elf did not pull away in disgust or repulsion. Instead, Ñolofinwë returned the kiss, his arms wrapping around his eldest son and drawing him in closer. 

After a moment, the two parted the kiss, though their foreheads still remained connected. “Atar,” Finno exhaled, wondering if perhaps this was some sort of dream. Had he passed on to the Halls of Mandos on the ice? 

But no, he hadn’t. Ñolofinwë smiled gently, as if sensing his son’s thoughts, before kissing him once more. “I wondered if you might come to me like this.. I did not wish to push you toward it if it was not your desire,” he explained in soft tones. “When I learnt of your cousin’s escapades with Fëanáro, I was curious if you shared similar desires. Is this what you want?”

“More than anything,” Fingon managed, his face reddened. “I.. was afraid to approach you,” he admitted sheepishly, looking away. “In fear that you would find my attraction... immoral and disgusting.”

Ñolofinwë brought his hand up to his eldest’s cheek, a comforting touch that Findekáno couldn’t help but lean into. Words were lost to them then, instead communication devolved to touch and soon, taste. 

Laid back onto the bedroll, Findekáno‘s layers were peeled away so that Ñolofinwë could kiss along his chest, his mouth finding a perked bud and sucking it between his lips. The action earned a moan, quiet and breathless, Finno’s back arching at the sensation. 

“Atar, please,” he gasped, biting his plump lower lip before making his grand declaration. “I want you to be my first.”

Lifting his head, the older elf looked almost surprised. “First? You’ve.. been with no others?”

“I wanted to wait for you.. to save myself for you,” he admitted, his arm coming up to cover his flushed face. 

Those words sent a shot of excitement straight to Ñolofinwë’s cock, a low groan escaping him as he leaned back down to continue his descent upon his son’s torso. His lips pressed kisses, open and loving, upon every inch of skin until the other was covered in raised gooseflesh, his own cock noticeably stiff under his trousers. 

As Ñolofinwë’s hand covered Findekáno‘s cock, the heel of his palm providing much needed friction, he delighted in seeing his son writhe and squirm under him. “Take these off while I warm some oil,” he directed, pulling away only briefly to get the oil in his bag. 

Finno shucked his leggings as quickly as he could, the fabric getting caught around his ankle. For a moment he struggled, but his father’s hands were parting his thighs and damned if he didn’t care about anything but the way those beautiful hands looked against his skin. 

At first, the feel of Ñolofinwë’s slick finger tracing down the cleft of his arse felt odd, but as if circled the tight ring of muscle that was his entrance his eyes fluttered closed. “Please,” he urged. “Please, Atar..” 

The older elf needed no begging, his finger pressing into his eldest’s heat, feeling the smooth muscle as it clenched and relaxed around the digit. Fingon’s breath hitched, his fingers grasping at the furs under him, and yet his legs splayed further all the while. 

Slowly, he thrust the finger in and out of his son’s entrance until he felt confident Finno was ready for another. The way he opened him up was methodological, ever patient, with murmured words of encouragement offered every few moments. 

“Ready?”

Finno nodded, breath uneven as the other’s fingers withdrew from him. The sudden emptiness was short lived as his father’s angled his length at his aching hole, the top pressing in until at last it popped past the first ring of muscle. Groaning in unison, connected at last, the pair seemed to glide together until Ñolofinwë was buried deep within his son. 

“Ahh Atar, Atar,” he moaned, wiggling his hips to adjust to the gracious intrusion. “Please, fuck me.. please, Atar, I need you to fuck me..”

The moment Ñolofinwë’s hips drew back, Fingon was seeing stars, but they were nothing compared to the explosion of pleasure that followed in that first thrust. His head fell back, legs automatically wrapping around his father’s hips trying to draw him in again. 

Rhythmically, the two collided again and again and again. Findekáno’s moans swallowed up as Ñolofinwë claimed his mouth in a searing kiss, thrusting quickly into him as he grew more accustomed to the glorious stretch. 

When at last, by aid of his father’s hand stroking his cock in time with his shallow, quick thrusts, he came, Finno moaned loud enough that even over the wind he might have been heard if not for his father’s mouth over his. Deep within him, Ñolofinwë’s seed filled him a moment later, and at last he felt complete. 

Panting softly and damp with sweat, the chill quickly set in. Ñolofinwë withdrew from his son carefully, and pulled the furs up around them. His lips pressed to the other’s temple, whispering words of love, but they fell to deaf ears. Fingon was already fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr @quinngreyy


End file.
